


Reverberations

by PipesFlowForeverandEver



Series: Hymns of Struggle [14]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: A lot of hurt and a lot of sweetness is in store, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gay Romance, Probably some gay too, Recovery, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Roommates, Some of the studio characters live together with the OC who helped them escape, Trying to get over what happened without ignoring or obsessing with it, oh its definitely gay now hella gay hella tender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-05-13 21:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipesFlowForeverandEver/pseuds/PipesFlowForeverandEver
Summary: The echoes of the song still ring long after they have been freed, the sweet tones of a tomorrow pang in their souls for today.(Takes place after the original Hymns of Struggle series. It will probably be more enjoyable if you've read that, but if you're into the story of the people of JDS figuring out how to live in the modern world after being freed, then this might be your cup of tea too!)





	1. The Next Story

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's been a while, hasn't it? As promised, I do have some ideas that I want to explore with the Hymns of Struggle AU. This work takes place specifically after the end of Hymns, so don't read this just yet if you don't want spoilers. If you don't mind, of course, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> The format of this will likely be vaguely linear events that are kinda like drabbles chapter by chapter, a lot less focus on an overall plot and more upon day to day occurrences and the overarching struggle of the healing process. I have at least a handful of ideas I want to think about, and maybe I can make a plotline that makes sense? We'll see!
> 
> Thank you especially to Silver and Ace for supporting me this far and reading my first drafts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's a list of art I've gotten for Hymns since the last chapter was posted:
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/184737620813/insane-control-room-what-is-seen-and-what-is  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/184769031123/im-still-screaming-about-it-now  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/184940083323/insane-control-room-seraph-and-cherub  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/185067498398/wolfheart7snow-i-drew-some-gals-today-i-had-a  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/185273654133/ask-the-hellion-studio-ive-recently-devoured

Ticker lines of vague phenomena on the news. Images of reunions. Photo comparisons, black and white and blurry color. Diagrams, graphs, even charts. They were dedicated. They were relentless.

They were _horrifying._

Within the buzzing forums in the underground of the Internet, everyone was convinced that something happened. Some called it a miracle. Others, a sign of biblical end times. The nonreligious found faith in its proof of conspiracy, and people with third eyes looking for magic with ease found it there. What happened- whatever it was- was a water well miles deep for either new beginnings or the affirmation of beliefs one already had about the nature of this big, strange world and whatever waited under the crust of everyday mundanity and the anonymity of modern society. Regardless, everyone that cared enough to look was convinced that here were things that exist in a way that they should not.

And if these truth-seekers weren’t too busy arguing with each other about how this wonder took place rather than agreeing it took place at all- as the internet is wont to do- then perhaps something further could have become of it. So besides the titles of 4chan posts and the details of obscure YouTube videos with no more than a few dozen hits, Francine and her people had relative peace.

As much peace as could be allowed with an exodus from one world to the next.

All of the theories of the conspirators were mostly wrong, but they did all _notice._ A sudden influx of people reentering society all at once, a bounce in the rise of missing person cases being solved. Some of the posters on these sites, even, suggested someone new has moved in on their street, and they look _just_ like someone they had found in the records of a newspaper with a date that implies this intruder should be long dead.

An interesting predicament. Just subtle enough on a universal stage to fly under public radar, just ridiculous enough to change everything forever to the few predisposed to the abnormalities of daily living. The irony of this was that it suited Joey very well. And Joey _was_ a part of this story, whether he liked it or not. That was something he and most of his former employees could agree on; he should have just died.

But out of all the things these actual and self-proclaimed scholars speculated about what caused any or all of these strange happenings, none of it involved a twenty-something woman doing her best just to get souls once dead to find a place to land their feet. They never noticed how as often as possible, the long missing individuals were placed with living family. And if they were part of the original disaster- died so far back in the flood that no one that remembered them was still alive- she’d spend hours upon days upon weeks convincing the remaining descendants that something happened, and they could prove it.

And the few that were convinced were sworn to silence, but it’s not as if anyone else would believe the young man renting the spare bedroom was actually their aunt’s great grandfather.

This is how Francine spent her days since she helped release the curse of the studio alongside a prophet who betrayed his god. The ones that didn’t survive Joey’s wrath walked her through a few weeks in hell, and now she was their Moses. But like him, she was just one person, and everyone could see she was so, so tired.

And she wondered if they could see that even in paradise, plenty of the troubles you’ve had walk out with you.


	2. Conspiracy Theories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francine is in a new place so familiar to someone else, trying to balance how she feels moving from one life to the next with others counting on her for the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new character, and a new setting. :3c
> 
> Well, perhaps to you, but not to me.

The sun was setting on the old neighborhood this fine evening. All the cars were pulled into their lots. Kids tugged their toys through the front door before their parents locked it tight for the night; it wasn’t a dangerous neighborhood, no, but…

_Well…_

Perhaps it felt just a _little_ different with how full the abandoned building around the corner suddenly was. Some of the high schoolers used to joke it was haunted- not homed but somehow paid for enough to stand, so how else?- and now, perhaps the dead had come back to life. A lot of folks came and went like dandelion puffs blown to the wind, and just like those little seeds, it seemed like a few were also just here to stay.

Distrust of _people_ was the wrong word; it was rather the distrust of _change._ That- both those in and those out of the formerly luxurious rowhouse- could agree upon…mostly. Certainly, the fact none of these newcomers seemed to take priority fixing up the property’s lush vines and rusting front gate gave the impression that their priority wasn’t in the house itself, but rather whatever was being done there.

Pushing past the bronzing front gate, through the small maze of overgrown topiary, crawling up the leaves and moss that took root in ancient brick, there was hidden Francine Vahl in her own bizarre foster home for people who might as well be imaginary. Just a peek through the second story window into one of the few calm moments she’d had since claiming victory-

“This week on Fizzline: Uncracked- the missing persons of Joey Drew Studios-”

“Are you FUCKING _kidding me!!!”_

The glow of the computer was momentarily blunted as the towel Francine had been drying her hair with was thrown against the screen. Then came a growl, low but now an all-too familiar sensation in her throat as the weeks had passed. All she wanted was a break- _a break!_ And the next episode of her favorite show wouldn’t even let her have _that._ The woman loathed now the enthusiasm she once had to be nosy about the strange affairs brought to her through the impersonal filter of the internet.

The chair groaned, too, as she leaned back and put her palms over her face to muffle her own complaints. Not even that, though, could hide a second shift in light. In her peripheral, the crack of daylight broke into her room and across carpet flooring with a silhouette standing in it; this shadow had a smile.

“Miss Frankie?” Hardly began to know him and she could already never mistake that Brooklyn accent. “Don’t know how ta’ say this w’out being rude, but- ah- I heard ya yellin’!”

With great reluctance, the hands dragged down her cheeks and drooped her eyes until a frown exaggerated by the stretch was gone and left her regular, subdued weariness. She turned away from the laptop screen and the narration of the believer of the paranormal so she could be skeptical of what was ahead. “It’s nothing,” Francine answered in a sleep deprived drawl. “Just- frustrated is all. Nothing.”

Wally Franks invited himself in with a not so subtle lean forward, both hands gripped against the door; a purse was upon his lips and his brow furrowed underneath that big, curly mop of blonde hair. The whites of his eyes had a splash of brightness upon them thanks to the stark contrast of the room’s lighting, but there was wondering if they seemed to shine a little just on their own.

“Doesn’t look quite like nothin’ if you ask _me!”_

The tone was soft and humorous, but it made blood rise to Francine’s cheeks. It was suddenly, sharply apparent she was bundled up in her bathrobe and pajamas, in the dark with nothing but a computer screen, papers scattered about and her hair frizzy like a madwoman; she became so frantic to start her work again she forgot to brush is as she always did- well. Used to do. So she blushed because for the first time, she got a glimpse of what she looked like on the outside.

Well, outside as in with someone else’s eyes. If she had to hear about someone “on the outside” speculating the existence of all the folks who died, heaven knows what she’d do to cope.

Wally quirked his head with a hum that was curious rather than patient, so Francine stopped looking at her dirty socks and made eye contact with the intruder.

“It- it is. Just trust me.” A vague gesture to the screen and the amused face upon it talking about others’ lives. “It’s just-“

Now an exhale, and she slumped back again, hard enough that she was looking at him upside down and couldn’t tell if he was smiling again or frowning still.

“I wanted a break from everything, for- for a second- so I tried watching this show again- and it’s just…-” She gave a hard eyeroll that made him raise a brow. Soon, he saw her sit up and with a click, the video stopped in place, and then she slumped back down with a forlorn gaze. “It began…talking about things,” she murmured. _“Us_. It’s- it’s a show about mysteries and it thinks…that we…-”

Now, Wally had made himself stick out since Francine had gotten to know the being she saved. He had a chipper voice and looked like sunshine incarnate- and she wondered what he was hiding. Not too hard, of course; she could only guess it was an extreme form of coping and who was she to judge? But it made her wish they could switch dispositions. Someone meant to help- someone who had gone through so little comparatively- shouldn’t be moaning about like she was.

It made her feel guilty, and so a moment of rest never seemed to last anyways.

Didn’t cross her mind she stood out to him, too.

 _“Well,”_ the man started with a smirk as he finally fully entered the room, “If you’d have asked _me,_ I think that sounds just incredible!” The expression on her face at that was unreadable at this angle in the dark, so he continued without a skipped beat to interrupt the undeniable excitement on his face. “People makin’ stories about us! Like a fairy tale! A _movie?_ Wait, wait- what about a-”

 _“A conspiracy theory?”_ Francine interrupted bluntly with her arms dangling off the sides of the chair.

To that, Wally put a hand to his chin and hummed once more. “Nah, can’t say I know what that is! But it sure sounds like something interestin’ as all get out happened to us, doesn’t it, Miss Frankie?”

Again, she promised herself not to question him, even if the scrunch in her face did that for her. Uncertain if she didn’t know how to counter that or just didn’t find it right to take that optimism away, it was lucky there was another topic to latch onto.

“Y-you don’t have to call me that.” She paused, startled by this name. “’Frankie’, I mean.”

To that, the man with a similar name of his own only shrugged with a noncommittal grunt. Even upside down, Francine noticed the limp in his walk as he came up to grin over her and grip on the headrest of her seat.

“Mr. Drew told me that’s just what ya prefer!” At list point, Francine wondered if Wally could notice her blinks were a bit too long not to brush away incredulity instead of dust in the air. “He says t’ call folks how they wanna be called, and hey! That ain’t such a bad idea! Then maybe someone could call me ‘king’ and I can rule the world!”

A slap hit his knee as the strange guy made himself laugh, giving Francine just enough time to think about this. Wally was…seemingly the only person that didn’t hate Joey to his core. She couldn’t blame them; standing her ground about keeping him around got her more than a little grief and a few dirty looks. But he was as lost as the rest of them, and she was detached just enough to be able to handle what he did to her back in the studio.

Someone had to look out for him, and so she supposed it was a blessing at least someone else was willing to talk to him.

“Frankie?” Francine let out a “huh?” as Wally tilted his head closer to her. “Y-y’ were supposed to laugh at that, you know.”

The most she could return to his feeble smile was one of her own, two awkward figures in the dark that didn’t seem to quite fit in because of how well they did fit in. They had that much in common, so her smile felt a little more genuine.

“Eh, close enough!” the man exclaimed proudly with a rough but delighted pat to her face. It made her groan- like a little sister getting her hair scruffed too hard- and she reflexively grabbed onto his wrist to make him stop. But he was beaming now, since the ridiculousness of it _did_ get her to chuckle. His hand slipped out as if to leave…

…But in the end, he just stood above her, wide-eyed and neutrally amused, waiting for something else.

“…You can go now,” came her garbled answer, “If. If you want. I just…have things I gotta do now.”

But he stayed, gazing upon her with a different kind of light in his eyes. “Any word yet?” Words quieter too. “’Bout my family…?”

It made her voice stop in her throat, heart cease to beat for a split second. “No,” the young woman tried to say as gently as she could, “But I’ll keep looking.”

And if grins in real life could get squiggly like in cartoons, that’d be exactly how he’d look, eyes hooded and a meek, hopeful tug on his lips.

“Thanks, Miss Frankie.”

And with that, one Frank saw the other slip away, his shadow filling in the light in the doorway once again.

“Wait.”

_“Hmmm?”_

Wally peered back in not too much unlike when he first entered before, but this time, there was a hand reaching out for him.

“…Do you wanna watch it with me?” For some reason, she had felt disgusted at the idea before, but…doing it not alone- with someone else- was different. “You don’t have to, of course,” she added, reluctant to believe he really didn’t mind his struggle be trivialized.

But…looking at it with wonder instead of disdain was looking quite attractive to her tired soul; assuming it degraded her work- no, no, it can’t be about her- her friends’ lives could perhaps be substituted for hoping that maybe they seemed magical. It was just that, after all…and it could have been a story that ended very, very differently.

Not all episodes of Fizzline ended with people coming back instead of disappearing forever.

So it wasn’t long before Rain and Shiane were back on the screen again, talking about the abrupt appearance of multiple missing persons and wondering what took them, asking what brought them back while on the other side of the screen, one that knew and one that did not allowed a small reprieve from the chaos of being alive again.


	3. A Late Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wally convinces Francine to get out of her hidey-hole.

Perhaps the time trapped in the studio was the best prelude to domestic living. Such entrapment also served as, in a certain sort of way, a halfway house between the past and the present. Wait- wasn’t that what this place was supposed to be? And wasn’t the studio an _awful_ place? And-

Well, the analogy is understood regardless. Let’s just keep that before we ruin it.

This turned out to be true for Francine, too, despite being there for the least amount of time, she began to recognize as she and Wally walked down the stairs, as per his mysterious request. The blonde had given her a grin and asked as politely as a smug Brooklyn boy can if she would be so kind to _escort_ him to the lower level, if a gal as busy as herself had a spare minute. Was whatever he said she needed to do just a thinly veiled trick to get her out of her room?

Imperatively.

But perhaps she knew in the back of her head that she was beginning to forget it was good to be in a situation where you had the choice to open yourself up.

Wally’s hand grazed down the banister, the skin of his palm catching every so often thanks to the rhythm of the walk down. It made her ponder how much they both missed such a…simple sensation. One she easily took for granted, after spending a while feeling railing that only gave her splinters. A blink and her gaze was on his face, smile in an upturn so strong and his own eyes so bright that he almost looked goofy. Of course, she just turned away when he noticed and pretended she wasn’t staring regardless of how clear it was. But maybe he was more clever than that pleasantly blank expression of his gave on, seeing as he not only let it go but gave her an excuse for wandering eyes.

“It’s a weird house, Miss Frankie,” he quipped, curls brushing against his forehead with an upward glance. By this time, the last footstep sounded at the bottom of the staircase, and the two stood there hand in hand, the man tilting his head down to watch the woman move her own in every other direction. “I know the whole story of beggars can’t be choosers, but ahh-” He shrugged. “I might have begged for somethin’ else!”

She replaced verbalizing her disdain for such unappreciation with a slight scrunch of her face and a frown in her lip. It was…a house. That was enough.

It had been a while since she really gave this place a real, conscious look-over, though- if she had ever. Couldn’t have even called it a move, more just…migration.

Can’t let a crowd of folks with no home live in a giant field with only one decrepit cottage on the hill in the middle of no where, civilization out of sight. This free house was no where near a compromise when it did the job- that is, it was much, _much_ more. And heaven knew she needed help with the job.

And so with the bustle of those who lived here with her in the back of her ears, she finally took inventory of what she inherited. The sound itself was different, of course; far unlike the hollowing quiet of the studio, its drips and its silence still tucked in the corner of her heart as she listened to the background noise of _people-_ people _together_ and _living._

Alive.

That alone stole her breath away.

The banisters overhead still held cobwebs, and a tiny spider crawled over a glistening, this string in cadence to the occasional clang of distant dishes.

The frames hung on the wall never rusted, so maybe they weren’t there as long as she had suspected. She could hear someone talking and she noticed the way light clung to its corners. Some of them held people to be paired with the sounds, tinted brownish-yellow like the frozen time she and the others came from.

And more so ahead than above, the shelves were full with things she couldn’t describe on sight, a clutter of color and bundles of shapes. Some surfaces of the things looked like gems or glass, others muffled in tone and texture. Regardless, the shelves were so full that it looked like a simple shake could spill them right to the floor, and bits of…whatever they were dangled over the edges as it is. That last detail was the most striking, and so it kept her focus; paper…leaves? They were intertwined, like a chain. But it seemed even more elaborate than that-

Another matching sound to accompany this, too, as Francine yelped from the sudden voice in her ear.

“Miss Frankie-? Woah, HEY-!”

But she had already jumped, simultaneously spinning around and tripping backwards, the sole of her foot slipping underneath her and leaving her upper back and head slammed into the very object of her attention. Something blood red and fairly round dropped to the floor, and more than a couple of scattered pages followed slowly behind in a flutter. Arms were outstretched ahead but not hers, just barely short of catching her, punctuated with a grimacing face baring its teeth.

“I-..! Oh-…”

Wally’s fingers flinched, as if unsure to help her back upright or not, but awkwardly retracted as Francine carefully rolled her shoulders forward and bent her legs so she was just a bit taller. Her eyes were pinched shut with curled brows above.

But instead of a yell, she actually laughed a little as her eyelids opened back up to evaluate the damage. Yup, she was a-okay. Things happen.

She and him exhaled at the same time in different ways.

“No worries, dude,” she assured with a smirk, ruffling her hair back a bit. “I’m just…jumpy today.” The emphasized pun involved a chuckle at herself. It was also a bit of a bold assumption, considering she had spent all of it up until now locked up in her room.

Fingers reached down towards the crimson, thankfully unbroken glass- probably? Felt kind of like it- but others grabbed the connecting wrist. Francine looked up to see Wally with that same grin as before, but with a look in his eyes hinting at an apology.

“Nah, I’ll take care of it. My fault anyway! …Kinda.” An eyeroll with a more pained stretch in the corner of his lips. “Made ya, y’ know… _fall.”_

She wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, and so he interpreted her silence as something to make him feel even worse.

“I _am_ a janitor, after all!” Another expression- a squint of the eyes and a side glance. “…Was? Whatever! Just don’t worry about it! And I hereby swear-!“

He yanked her away from the now even messier array of shelves backed against old floral wallpaper before she could say another word, disregarding a meaningless _“ah!”_  of surprise.

“-That I _won’t_ tell Joey a _single_ peep ‘bout it!”

He let her go after basically flinging her out of the way, Francine soon in the backdrop as the best mess maker in the world contemplated with a hum his own accidental damages. His arm raised to rub his chin. Without much more to say- and perhaps wondering if he secretly found some sort of solace in doing his old work- Francine gave one last, long glance over the man who lost it all without a care in the world before going back on her way. Now, he dragged her downstairs for a _reason._ What was it again…? With a small frown, she proposed she might remember if she kept taking steps forward and saw a sign of her lost purpose.

This home she passed through was…old. Ancient, perhaps. At least a century had passed since the ground broke for its foundation. No one would have guessed that, and only one of them had already just known from experience. It was dustless, nearly. And the wood had no rot, no disrepair. The age of the joint simply seemed to exist with all the charm and none of the failed demands of care she had anticipated to see upon arrival. The closest that came to it was a nest in the chimney for a family of bluebirds, and even that seemed like it could exist just because someone decided that was fine. The boards of the walls glimmered a rich, cherry-brown that nearly seemed polished, strung with photos of folks with styles of dress that seemed to lie about how recent it had been since someone cared for this place. Had Linda hired someone to-? Francine never heard mention of that, kind of just ended up herded here in this place- sort of like a dream in both the wonderful and the bizarre sense. If Joey and the studio were like Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory, she hoped this wasn’t the 70s adaptation with the infamous boat-in-a-tunnel scene.

But that version had a redhead in it too, and both doubtlessly had at least a short dabble in magic.

So on and so forth with topics that came and fled with ease, these thoughts took her so far away that she blinked and saw herself somewhere else, Wally’s happy tune tucked behind the corner and an archway right over her head. The things dangling from it were for certain plants, so she felt far too much safety taking an elongated sniff through her nose to enjoy whatever faint aroma they shrugged off with their pollen.

A reflexive cough was near-immediate, the bite of spices and herbs nipping at her nostrils and tickling the back of her throat. Eyes again squeezed shut and she bent over slightly with a hand over her mouth, the potent reek of every scent on earth trying to poke its way in her head for its undivided attention.

Unlike a minute ago, however, the pair of hands nearby did end up making their way to her shoulders.

With the water was left running in the sink and suds on his knuckles, Norman Polk stopped doing the dishes just long enough to make sure she was okay. She blinked, forcing herself to choke back whatever scents were left to be rid of in her lungs, and give him a grateful smirk.

“I’m fine-…fine,” she assured with a slight rasp in her voice. Winkles in his face pushed back just a bit more as he returned with a flicker of his own grin back for her. Her jaw dropped enough to open her mouth as she tried to remember what to say- did she come downstairs to ask him something? Was that it?- but one of his palms moved to touch it. He was still nonverbal but had proven so damn expressive, this time with a smile like that and a glint in his brown eyes.

The sensation was familiar, even with sunshine and a breeze through the window instead of blinding light from his own head and bleeding ink dripping from his fingers.

It was different in the best way possible.

A smudge of water was left on her chin and imprinted in the cloth over her shoulders as he gave her one last pat- making her hair just a tiny bit scruffier- and turned back around to the kitchen sink to continue what he had started, a small thing that reminded him of his new lease on life.

She saw the way he watched the soap bubbles run over his dark skin, his hands working so slowly as to not overwhelm his ears with every _ting_ of the forks, plates, and spoons, and Francine decided it would be best to leave him and the rest of his moment be.

As soon as she was out of sight, Norman looked at the space she was and smiled again, the faucet like a waterfall as birds sang to him from the backyard. His heart felt…lighter. Lighter than it had ever been. Eyelids fluttered almost like someone sprinkled fairydust in his eyes, and light from the window lined his profile with the sun in a blue sky.


	4. Music Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are little things worth living for, no matter where you go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this perhaps seems familiar, it should be if you follow the writing on my tumblr blog. The majority of this is straight from a drabble I wrote on the fly for The Ink Demonth event, and it seemed appropriate to include it in the story itself.

As steps thumped distantly up another set of stairs, arms with brown skin reached forward for a familiar, onyx disk. The knuckles of the right hand curled, backlit by the sunshine streaming into a darkened room through an open window, and it allowed the tips of fingernails to graze over the ridges. Amazing how the shape of something could capture music; it still amazed Sammy, in fact, and it had since he was a child.

Incredible, also, how that time was both so far away and not far away at all.

The muscles at the corner of his mouth felt the tug of a smile, a pinch underneath his eyes with a useless broken pair of glasses in front of them that glimmered with daylight. It hid an ache of a grimace as the young, old man remembered the paradox he was, but…

For the person who saved him and for himself, the lost soul found again decided from the start it would be best to let the spotlight focus on what was good. The sands of time broken in his hourglass were free to bury what could never be and what was forever gone, as far as he was concerned. That was the choice he made as the prophet of ink, and it would follow him into the second part of his human life.

He felt his eyes close, a hum in his throat soft- comparable to a cat’s purr when it sunbathes at the top of the staircase. The footsteps behind him were just loud enough that he didn’t jump in surprise when the music director heard another hum by his side and a soft lean to accompany it, hair falling over his upper arm and someone’s hand gripping his wrist. With that, his eyes opened just a sliver in recognition, and silence was allowed to speak for them both for at least a minute or two.

She sighed.

“Am I…too touchy sometimes, Sammy?” his friend suddenly asked with a nervous grin in her voice. She asked mainly because the man she lightly held had only recently become flesh and blood once more, and he had been alive with the bizarre, muted sensations of being liquid far longer than he had ever been the way he was meant to be- the way people are intended to exist before they truly die. But…he could guess a second reason; the air of doubt that all the times they touched in the studio was out of necessity rather than trust and care, that it was only necessary to trust and care. Bracing himself for the sensation, Mr. Lawrence tilted his head onto Francine’s, still surprised in the first split second that stray hairs didn’t stick to his cheek like they did before.

Nothing, yet again, was said. He didn’t know whether or not she was too touchy, but he decided that it didn’t matter. With only the breath through his nose as an answer, the woman that found him and the others Joey had stolen away glanced up at his hazy eyes and shattered spectacles and trailed down the arm she held till she saw once more the tenderness of his fingertips upon the old record.

“…Is that a good song?” she mumbled in attempt to start more casual conversation. The man felt his face scrunch up as he huffed out a chuckle.

“Just because I’m a musician doesn’t mean I’m a human record player, Francine.” His tone was level, but there was a sparkle in his blind eyes. “I can’t tell you what song it is just by touching it.”

Maybe he couldn’t spot the blush on her face, but the young woman could guess he felt a bit more heat from the skin pressed against his shoulder. “Shut up!”

And that…that made him laugh. A loud laugh, one from the heart over fires deep in his belly. She had never heard him laugh like that.

She wondered if he could hear her cry just a little as she let herself laugh along too.

In this room of vinyl and dusty books, sunbeams laid like bricks filtered through cream curtains and using the lines in his glasses to reflect and turn their laps into stained glass, life was certainly worth living. The others still finding their way heard the two friends and like it was radiance from the crack under this door, the sentiment little by little spread.

It was just fine that she forgot what she had come out of her room for in the first place. She found something even better. Sammy was wonderful, and so was having him and the others, even when her world was upside down from where it was before.

And in much the same way, he couldn’t have agreed more, even if someone else was still there that he didn’t expect to be.


	5. Two People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different experiences can make you feel like you used to be someone else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's more Hymns art!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/186652987418/randomwriteronline-day-30-stories-tell-me
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/186776268503/chamomile-carillon-panic-by-caravan-palace
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/186778059483/almost-an-angel-2
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/186836689463/pipesflowforeverandever-was-recently-talking

“I’m not like them, Francine.”

The announcement, soft and nearly unheard beneath the vapor of music in the air was slow to reach the woman’s ears, even when he was so close that she was leaning against his side. Perhaps it was like before, the first evening they rested together, when they closed their eyes in much the same way; the air seemed thick, too, then when feelings existed but words came slow.

Existing in itself is a syrup-thick task when you tire of its sweetness.

She furrowed her brow as they sat upon the daybed. He still had the record in his hands, and she could only assume that regardless of the form he took, its ridges and what they produced felt like home.

“…What makes you say that?” Not a denial; just…curiosity. Clearly her friend had an intent with such defining words.

In response, he chuckled, and she couldn’t tell if it was hollow or full.

“I remember.” Francine opened her mouth to argue- Susie remembered, after all- but Sammy beat her to it in that smooth voice of his that made every small thought sound so wise, so meaningful beyond what was said. “Everything. Before the studio consumed us. …After. Alongside, simultaneously. And I-…”

He lifted his head, a glint in his eyes with a pinch in their corners. His shoulders were rolled back and up with his neck forward as if he was going to fill his lungs to say more. No such passionate words came. Something inside made him quiet. Francine saw the fire fade from blazes to flickers, and the prophet withdrew, slumping back into the soft cream fabric palms had been squeezing. His gaze flickered towards the hand closest to her and he flexed his fingers in and out in a purposeful way. It took her a moment to realize that her fingers were supposed to go in them, and so they slipped between. Sammy’s sigh filled her heart with all sorts of things she hardly understood but did her best to entirely accept.

“…I remember it like it was yesterday,” he finally finished. His eyes were still downcast, evening light gleaming across glasses across his face. “So it’s…like being two people at once.” He raised his free hand, pointing his index finger and then his middle finger in a count. “The…person who belonged, and then the one who wasn’t ever supposed to be.” A pause. “The one who had fear amid hope, and the one who had hope amid fear.”

As his whisper faded, she had by now tilted her head forward as well as she could to evaluate his expression, although her own worried one was much more telling. She…admittedly had forgotten about that- that when Sammy got his memories back, it was like everything had just happened; he probably could have told her the soup he had for the dinner before his memories were taken away. The implications of this of course had escaped her as well, and it could have only been very, very much.

But still, something didn’t feel quite right. Maybe she was worried he would stay in the past.

…No, it was his opener for it.

“It’s _alright,_ you know,” she introduced softly, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “You don’t have to be like them. You don’t…have to go through _exactly_ the same thing just be- like- just as deserving for a better…experience,” she took a moment to pick the last word right.

He felt her turn her body towards him, and while he was reluctant to reciprocate, he did shift his expression- the barest hint of a look her way.

“….You and I have never-….argued over which of us had the worst time down there, Sammy. It was hard and it was bad.”

She didn’t like his silence after.

“No one has told you anything like that, right?”

By this point, her hand was squeezed tight. In a place full of people still learning to live with each other- each with their own unique trauma- it’d be inevitable that not everyone got along. But if someone said anything like that-…

He interrupted her worries. “No. _No,_ Francine. I’ve just been-…”

“…Worried someone will?”

And the chuckle came back, fullness still unknown but the bittersweetness clear.

“You shouldn’t be able to read me so well,” he muttered. Sammy squeezed her hand back before slowly releasing his grip, a queue for her to release too. She did.

“You know…” she returned with a tender, more optimistic tone, “…I still think that even if you didn’t remember when I met you, it still means a lot you are who you were.”

“…I think I understood what you meant,” he said of her word soup with a smirk, “So I’ll pretend you said _that_ instead.”

Someone in the hallway heard the awkward laughter shared between the two, their figures framed by a doorway she kept from the edges of, hiding from their sight. Her folded arms squeezed tighter at her chest, and auburn hair covered her face as it shifted away and down. Another person had always been split in two, now even more than before, but still didn’t know how to begin to explain it. Perhaps it was good she was an accidental audience to his own testimony. Perhaps the prophet and Sammy could make peace, and so could an angel and Susie.

“It’ll be okay,” Francine promised them both.


	6. God the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey does some thinking about the things he's done and what on earth he could do different. Francine is by his side, much the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be going to Niagra Falls tomorrow AND I have a job interview next week, so I thought I should put out the next chapter while I was thinking about it! Wish me luck! <3

_Go, my children, with my blessing, Never alone._

_Waking, sleeping, I am with you; You are my own._

_In my love's baptismal river_

_I have made you mine forever._

_Go, my children, with my blessing - You are my own._

Joey and Francine were sat side by side upon the cherrywood pews in an aging but charming church, its walls chipping with paint in the corners of banisters that were adorned with decorations. The stained glass was bright, a rainbow falling through them till it kissed skin and washed over clothes until they were another hue. Godly figures stood within the designs and ahead in cloth hanging from the ceiling with their arms open and smaller, less glowing people kneeling before them. Francine had caught Joey staring at them, and she couldn’t blame him; either awe or familiarity was a good reason. As the last hymn died down amid their distracted and wordless communication, Francine glanced down at the folded hands atop the dress tightened around her sitting legs before turning the look to him. He returned it, but his weak smile was clearly tired.

Soon enough, the soft shuffle on carpet became clicking heels on the sidewalk, the two walking outside together after slipping out as fast as they can, having sat in the back for such a reason. His hands were stuffed in pockets; he too was dressed well, but notably not in the suit he wore in the studio.

He refused to wear that again.

“…How was that?” she asked tentatively, noticing how different a dark jade could shape his shoulders than cream had before.

There was a bit of a pause as they lulled around the curve of the sidewalk, the shadows of trees breaking across the two’s sides with the sunshine that had made the tint before inside the place of worship. Bushes lined the building, sky bright blue and birds chirping in neighbor’s birdhouse of a similar color, complete with painted clouds. His gaze dragged behind the path of a dragonfly trying to find a home amid the bright green pins and round, red berries.

“It was… _interesting,”_ he replied, voice airy and his head bobbed lightly to the side at the last syllable.

“Yeah?” the young woman prodded with a touch of hope, a touch of apprehension. Enough so that she added onto it immediately. “I- I know some other places in this area to try out. A mosque a few streets over, and it’s right next to the town’s temple. There’s also a little house a few towns down where some Buddhists live. Maybe we could talk to them-”

Suddenly, he chuckled a bit, shifting his shoulders towards her but also a bit down in a shy, dismissive gesture. “Maybe another time, Frankie. I’m not quite…-” A notable pause. “- _Sure_ this is what I’m looking for.”

“Organized religion?”

“…I didn’t realize there was such a succinct name for it.”

And then there was another pause for them both to think. Joey had felt himself…out of place, he would say, both morally and in direction. To be expected, after being the villain for longer than the girl beside had been alive. It was his suggestion- one day as they happened to drive by on their way visiting Linda- so Francine found this effort in itself to be indicative of something good, regardless of what Joey ended up doing with it. Wasn’t her business what way of living one had as long as it made them happy and safe. For someone born before 1900 in the rural US, Joey knew little of any Abrahamic religion. And for someone with a major in sociology, Francine had seen a lot of practical use for it already. Lots of opportunities.

Speaking of her studies, she wondered how much it helped way down there- wait, was the studio even “down” at all? She fell, yes, but at this point recalling that she had, indeed, walked into a building at first was the only shred of evidence that Joey’s hellscape of his heart and mind was a physical state of being at all.

“It’s…interesting,” Joey repeated, interrupting her thoughts with his own as they neared their spot in the parking lot. “-To make a god out of a-…a _father.”_

At the last word, he had already stopped in their tracks, his gaze lost and eyes almost glazing over with the sunshine pouring onto them from above. She stopped too, her brow downturned and thoughts aching for him, but was simply patient and silent. For many of her new friends, it was just necessary to let them stop and think; the world was big enough and overwhelming for newcomers, even without the trauma of things done to you and things you did.

He noticed her, of course, and decided it best to toughen up enough at least to keep walking. He exhaled, looked over to the emerald, bug-eyed dragonfly again, and looped his arm in hers before offering a second weak but more sustained smile. She returned it, too, and added a nod before they finished their way to a small red car, making sure to demonstrate to Mr. Drew again how to open the door by giving it a small tug and then waiting for him to pull it out himself so he’d grow more accustomed to the action. She never expected to use what she had learned- about how people learn things- in such a drastic and personal way.

Again, things put to good use.

Two doors _tunk_ ed shut, her fingers first tapping on the steering wheel then reaching up to adjust the mirrors as she waited for him to strap on the seatbelt. After a bit of a fumble, he did, and then the engine rumbled. She allowed a second for him to adjust and for her to focus again before the car backed out, giving a polite wave through the window at the church members noticing them go. Joey gave no such gesture, and so she suspected his deep thinking wasn’t quite done.

Neither was hers, of course. Not after what he pointed out. Her eyes kept catching her own in the rearview mirror. She wasn’t the only one in their new home that had unfinished business and family to think about.

“…I think it’s interesting too,” she brought up again softly, unable to manage her usual long glance at Joey while driving. She could see the way he gripped the armrest, too, once in a while; they’d both rather she not be a distracted driver when being in a car already made him so anxious.

The old man, meantime, had decided to turn her way anyway.

“It’s…a certain way of thinking about respect, and-…parenthood. And what it means to care about others. Very distinct, lots that says about the folks who believe that a god should be someone who loves like a dad.”

Joey watched the large, pink magnolias of a tree cling in a blur behind her head as they passed a yard by. His stare flickered with it, and when it returned she somehow seemed to be somewhere else than before.

“…Have I ever told you about my dad?” she almost whispered.

Wide eyes knew how dangerously curious they were, honey irises locked on the girl next to him. He had at one point, in a dark time, imagined her as a replacement of sorts for his own son whom he believed was dead by his own scarred hand. He held that hand now, not looking but feeling the ingrain of where the knife slit into his palm and dripped blood into ink. There was a brief, silent panic as he tried to regain control of himself- pushing back the memories of what he did and how awful it was- before he nodded.

Even though she noticed in her peripheral, if it wasn’t for her voice, he wouldn’t have known at all with how still Francine was.

“He’s similar,” the woman admitted, words a wisp in the wind sailing by. “He believed he knew best, and that he could choose best. That if only you listen to him, it’ll all be okay…and that if anything went wrong, it was because you didn’t.”

As they approached a T-corner, another church with a cross centered in front of her hood waited, making her stare as they waited for the light to change.

“…He never listened to me when I said it ended up hurting me instead.”

Joey gave her another look up and down, anxious to touch her- to comfort her- even with the car stopped. Not because of the car, but because he was about as tender with the subject as she. Thankfully, she reached over instead to find and hold his hand; she still wouldn’t look.

Joey had prompted her to reconsider a lot of things. Her family was what had her keep hope to leave the studio alive, and yet she had hardly talked to her parents at all since she did. She was too busy, she told herself, but she was never convinced. No, there were feelings deeper than that, and it was still to be figured out.

“…I want you to know that you’re not like him, Joey.” Her eyes became glossy. “Not to me. You have your own problems, but at least you’re learning.”

The man spoken to, despite his longing, still felt in his heart somewhere a reluctance to accept this. He put his second hand on top of hers so that both could hold and assure.

“Perhaps he needs a prod to begin learning, too.”

As if on cue, the light overhead turned green and she pulled her hand away to turn the wheel left.

“Maybe,” came an answer dismissively.

They drove on only a few seconds more before she turned her head and saw him holding his chest and looking down at the wrinkles across the bend on his knees. It took even less for him to accept her hand once more.

“Maybe,” it repeated with sincerity anew, at least a promise to think about it.

The little red car drove down the road until the trees grew taller and the houses looked older. The oldest house of all was the one she parked in front of, vines on the brick and rust on the gate.

Joey’s hold was now desperate instead of comforting.

_“I don’t want to go in, Frankie.”_

He couldn’t even keep his eyes locked on hers to say that, and likewise she had to glance between his forest green suit and her bumblebee striped dress.

“…I know,” was all she could find in herself to say.

But it had to be done.

Once again, she let go and he felt the car bounce as her weight stepped off, her appearing again more distantly upon the other side. Francine would wait as long as it took. A few breaths felt a lifetime later for them both as he finally cracked open the door and met her in front of the gate.

“It’ll be okay.”

He could only hope she was right.

She made sure to keep her arm looped through his as they walked to his own front door and entered the home he had abandoned years ago along with a normal way of living.

He was back, and so were his employees with it and waiting inside.


	7. Changing the Channel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Tom try to figure out how to fix the TV, but it's a bit more uncomfortable to repair something broken and old than they realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the art I've gotten since last chapter!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188170460478
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/187980826128/chaostheparrot-im-alice-angel-for
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/187697689263/i-listened-to-this-a-few-times-and-tried-to-draw
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/187432338468/chaostheparrot-bees-i-love-feat
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/187018157103/wheres-gin-goin-huh-hopefully-to-hell-and-that
> 
> The job interview I mentioned didn't turn out, but I have another! Here goes again!

Nobody really liked Joey being there. One day, Francine ran downstairs when she heard something break as a glass was thrown over his head. She could never tell them they were wrong to be that angry, but the woman still pitied him- as she always did- so she would take him to her room to hide while she went back to console those he had betrayed.

“He’s a traitor.”

“He’s evil.”

“He’ll hurt you.”

_“Be careful.”_

She had heard it all, and being too weary to explain her feelings to someone more than justified in their own, she nodded, and listened, and promised she would take care in turning her back on him once more. Francine just asked them in turn to let him stay; that they’ll find their own homes soon enough and will never have to see him again.

So as the prisoners of the studio left one by one, his presence had grown less from a threat to a nuisance to those still left behind. The redhead made himself scarce by insisting he sleep in the garden shed even though this small mansion used to be his own home, and everyone who didn’t want to see him simply let him be as he finally let them. Sometimes, Wally would wander into the garden and knock on the door; sometimes, Joey would talk back, but on his worst days he was silent, and Wally would spend far too long insistently talking to the air.

At least one person didn’t hate him, was all Francine could think.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, come on. Where the hell did you get _that?!”_

“Oh, this old thing? It just called to me when we went to the thrift store for a new wardrobe. I think it needs more sequins, but perhaps the fashions have changed.”

“The _SMOKES,_ Allison. I know _damn_ well Joey didn’t smoke and never would’ve kept the stuff around here. He fucking hated to see you do it.”

“Clever women have their ways,” the older lady answered, her monolid eyes holding a mischief the rest of her expression didn’t dare convey. Aromatic smoke raised past her fingertips and wrapped around the bun in her hair, glistening black in the dim light of a closed window and grey static of an old television. Surely, no one was more destined for acting than she, and she knew it. Thankfully, had never forgotten.

Thomas in turn groaned and ruffled his chestnut hair, dark eyelashes fluttering. He knew better than to argue. Sometimes, the things she pulled off made him feel like he was watching a magician instead of a coworker-…well, former coworker, probably- that he could never tell was in character or _was_ a character. But she didn’t take any bullshit and neither did he, so they were faster friends than anticipated.

He remembered that Allison soon became the only person he felt he could trust, just before the studio tore itself down. With it came from the past that bittersweet feeling about her promotion, and not because the ink came in just after.

The man groaned again and shook his head, mumbling a “Just forget it,” that could thankfully be addressed to her smokes just as well. The television gave a hollow _tunk!_ and he knocked the top with a closed fist, the snow in the screen shifting slightly- making him hold his breath that maybe he’d finally got it-…

…Just for it to go back to the same scrambled pattern as before.

“I swear to God that I’ll get this TV on if it’s the _last_ thing I do, Al. I’m gonna go _crazy_ in here if I don’t got something to do. Starin’ at a wall was better than this!”

“Isn’t working on it doing just that, though? Wouldn’t fixing it be the problem?”

Allison, in her dark green dress and shiny heels, sat backwards into the equally old and out of style chair and folded her legs, dragging the cigarette before teasing him deadpan once more.

“You should try hitting it again.”

_“AL-“_

But the woman had already become distracted upon seeing a shadow fall upon the carpet. She turned around in the chair to see none other than-

“Susie!” Allison chirped, despite the other gal standing still in the entryway. “You’re just in time for the show!”

Much to Thomas’s surprise, Susie briskly turned and left.

“It was- she was _JOKING,_ SUE!” he called out in his loud grumble, reaching for her without getting up. Defeated, he sighed again, slumping in his kneel upon the floor and against the TV he slung his arm over. “You’re _SURE_ good at making friends, aren’t you Allison?”

The woman still there was uncharacteristically quiet without a sense of humor about her. She didn’t take another drag, and she felt her heart stew in misunderstandings they never had the chance to address. Uncomfortable with it, she wordlessly got up and left the opposite way Susie had done.

As soon as her seat was empty, a loud voice invited himself in as Wally flopped where she used to be, stringing his legs over an armrest.

“So uh…when’s the TV gonna be up n’ runnin’ again, pal?”

In response, Tom stood up with a dead-eyed, exhausted glare, and plopped the toolbox right on Wally’s lap. Its rattling and a groan as long as his breath came as a response as he walked right on out after Allison.

Some things besides the TV required some repairs, as frustrating as they were to look at.


	8. The Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit cold out today, but Sammy and Francine want to go out for a walk. Where are they going to find Sammy a coat...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next batch of art! Thank you so much!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188384954798/strawberry-meringue
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188384912553/insane-control-room-fic-here
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188384853783/startistdoodles-theyre-off-on-an-adventure
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188384830568/amazing-o

“Francine?”

“Mm?”

“I’m going to ask something embarrassing of you.”

The young woman hummed again, more questioningly, at her friend as she pinched the lapels of her jean jacket and pulled it to a better fit. Her companion, so skilled at always facing her eyes, gave a look considered uncommon from him since he became human again. Sammy _did_ seem embarrassed. Did he not want to go out after all?

“It’ll be…cooler outside, won’t it?” he began, brow curled with a slight smile on his face.

“…Oh yeah, probably!” his friend realized. Ah damn, she hasn’t bought anyone a coat yet! It wasn’t quite time for those around here, but most folks still have one lying around for days like this, don’t they? “Here- you can borrow this one!”

At the sound of the shuffle of her jacket, Sammy surprisingly waved his arms back and forth across his chest in what was clearly a “no.” At first, Francine presumed that he just would rather she wear the jacket, but such a guess would soon clearly be wrong.

“Do you-” the musician stammered. A pause clings to the air as his nervous grin deepens. “…Happen to have the jacket? The-…the one from before? The hood-ee?”

A flush crept into the woman’s cheeks. Truth be told, there was a reason she was getting new outfits for everyone, and it wasn’t to have a wardrobe; it was because those were what they wore when they died. Sammy, however, was particularly comfortable (insistent, even) to wear his dull white shirt and suspenders when they weren’t in the wash. To hear him ask for the hoodie Francine wore in the studio somehow was both a surprise and something that made a whole lot of sense. It being something he knew for sure the color of- even if old and worse for wear- was probably an appeal too.

Only thing was that Francine almost died in it herself, more than once! Sentimental as she was, she stuffed it away but hoped to never see it again.

Now she was on her hands and knees, scraping underneath her bed for it. Francine understood that some things important for her to leave behind are good for others to still have, and if she had to see Sammy wear the jacket she always did? The one he hugged her in, rescued her in? There were worse things. With a huff, she dragged out what she found stuffed into hiding- some green pants, a blue shirt, and a maroon jacket. Cross-legged on the floor, she held the hoodie up to present it.

Just knowing it was still there seemed to put stars in Sammy’s eyes.

So they walked on the sidewalk, hand in hand, listening to the songs of the bluejays and the whisper of the wind- Francine in her bumblebee dress and a jean jacket spattered with pins and patches, and Sammy in his suspenders underneath a new, lovingly used, red hoodie.

Francine had never seen him smile so much, not since they first emerged into the outside.

 

* * *

 

 

The leaves of a coming fall crinkled outside, brushing against the window like they were politely chiming may they please come in. Susie ignored them, though, as this wasn’t her room to invite entrance to in the first place, let alone herself as she was. Peeking inside and finding no one still there, the woman snuck in, moving the door as little as possible as if disturbing it even an inch was a sin.

She had seen Sammy on the way out, and she thought that thing was destroyed forever; that’s what Francine _said_ she would do.

Susie smirked as she spotted the tee on the floor, pink heart intact. Francine always knew how to bluff. And even if it wasn’t hers, the angel was happy to see it too.

Through the crack of the door, one could see her delicately pick the shirt up and hold it near her scarred face, remembering what once was.


	9. Campfire Static

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her skin is soft, her lips are red. Her voice is sweet, but that's the only thing that's just fine.
> 
> Sometimes, to return to things before makes things found the time in-between all the more complicated. An angel doesn't know what name is hers anymore and if that changes everything for someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is gay as hell.
> 
> I yet again had not one but three more interviews but here's hoping!
> 
> Also, here's some commissions of my human Sammy I ordered from my friend June!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188642329238/thedarkpuddles-bust-sketch-commission-for
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188618593808/thedarkpuddles-sketch-simple-bust-sketch
> 
> And here's some other Hymns art I made myself:
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188725788083/chamomile-carillon-wolfheart7snow-showed-me-this

Francine was the one this time to watch from the doorway, not trying to be seen while someone else went about her business….even if that business _was_ odd. Of course she was curious; Francine had woke up in the middle of the night to find Suzie cozied up about as uncomfortably as one can be, not in the chair across the tv but curled at the foot of it. There was no sound from the television. There was no music from the record player. Worst of all, there were no words sweet from the songbird’s painted red lips. It made Francine frown. She was either seeing what she wanted to in its static or didn’t see anything at all, judging from the woman’s long stare.

“…I know you’re there, my cherub,” the lonely angel muttered without so much as looking. The cool touch of Francine’s shadow drifting all away across to land upon her cheek was enough. It took a moment before the addressed person reacted. It was…bizarre- bizarre to see someone that looked like Susie talk like Alice Angel had before. That all the experience, heartache, and history of one soul still existed in front of her, just in a different body.

The tall, macabre figure in the dark, who’s single eyed glowed in the dark and watched Francine back at first with envy and then with her adoration. The one who reached arms dipped in ink to be gloved the deepest black, reaching out for her.

The one who died for Francine and came back as… _this._ A woman shorter than her now, with reddish hair and a scarred face not too unlike before, but skin so much rosier and warmer to the touch that it was still unfamiliar.

Did Francine wonder as much as she did if _this_ was who she rescued and loved? Because that’s what made the angel _terrified._

The truth was that Francine guessed that Alice didn’t know if this is what she wanted, that this is what she had meant when she said she wanted to be someone again back in the stomach of a horrible monster and machine. No one ever expects to be who they used to be- even if it was only a little more familiar than she had remembered in her head.

The young woman fumbled her hands awkwardly before approaching one hesitant step at a time, her pajama pants in Susie’s peripheral before the person in them sat down. The fabric was unfathomably soft against Susie’s hand as it grazed past the knee she held, velvet that made her shiver.

Ms. Campbell’s gaze finally faltered as she felt Ms. Vahl’s linger over her, up and down over the sharp silhouette in the dark chewed by grey light. She had always been so good at staring, at making her feel more than one way about being seen by someone who matters.

“…You look good in this,” came the shy observation of the dress Francine managed to find for her friend.

The other’s response was a ‘ _tsk’_ after pulling at the hem at the end of her skirt, and an opinion far too strong came before it could be shut up. “ …Thank you.” And by accident, something more true.

“But it’s not _me-”_

And Susie’s voice was stolen right then. Their eyes matched, both wide and unsure of where they stand, and they both understood this statement might have not been about the baby blue gingham sundress from the second hand store. As one woman floundered, the other was on edge- emboldened enough to jump either across the gap or fall straight down.

 _“Did you mean it?”_ Francine whispered, heart in her throat and head leaning forward. The auburn-haired voice actress looked her up and down, choking and nothing more. “Did you-… _kiss_ me because you wanted to, or- did you just…?”

And the static of the television took her voice, its glow as delicate yet overwhelming as everything between them. Two people that perhaps never quite knew each other in the first place, and both different people now. It made romance not only scary but _uncomfortable._ To look at someone that you love and to be unsure if they still love you quite that way, too.

“I know it happened really fast,” Francine offered almost desperately. Even if it was just excitement of the moment, she had to know. She needed a clue about what she was supposed to do to make her seraph _happy._

Susie’s brow curled. “…Why would you doubt me?”

“You- you just-… We haven’t… _talked._ Since.”

Francine didn’t even know what name to call her now. Neither did she.

Pins were in the angel’s heart like it was a cushion.

“…I don’t know who I am now,” the seraph muttered, eyes never leaving her savior. “And I don’t want to hurt you as I waste time figuring it out.”

So soft was the fabric against Susie’s pinkie. No matter how tight her fingers grip in stress, its sensation was engulfing her mind.

“…I don’t want to tear you apart to build up the pieces like I did back there, with everyone else.”

Susie, when she was sure she was Alice, first felt her world turn upside down when she saw a young woman with a blue shirt and a pink heart stitched on her chest that made a promise she would never hate her, and in turn, the angel had promised Francine she would never die.

Even now, even if it means they should never talk again, she wouldn’t bear to see her hurt.

“Susie-”

Susie flinched, a fire in her eyes- the one that was underneath a halo at one point in time, as Francine reached for her hand. Reflexively, the songstress gasped and seized Francine’s wrist. And now, they were so close; the cherub was leaning in so their noses almost touched, and the seraph could feel the warmth of her breath.

“…Alice.”

Francine’s second hand came so both were cupping hers. The young woman’s skin was even softer than her clothes.

…She chuckled.

“I thought you said it. Why would you doubt me?” She squeezed, their palms flushed with grey light. “You didn’t want me around before, but we came out better for it right? Would you…let me try again?” She always had stars in her eyes, even in the worst of times. “I know we’ll always love each other even if it doesn’t stay that way.”

How could words be so innocent yet carry the world all at once? The one resurrected gaped at her heavenly love- her _salvation-_ and knowing what she wanted- with it right in front of her- she pulled their hands onto her lap and tilted her chin so that she could taste her lips once more. One hummed and so did the other, an echo passed between them that would could never match. Francine was so warm, like a blanket that had sat folded by the foot of a fire during a winter night, and her guardian angel was something so very, very sweet that set one alight from the inside out, like a cup of steaming spearmint tea with a spoonful of honey.

Both were perfect for the hardest days.

Two women, both so small as they held each other in the faux moonlight of a broken screen. Neither of them knew who they would be…but being something now was still worth a good, honest try. 

After all, this was still the same seraph Francine fell in love with.


	10. Fresh Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang goes for a walk, and Sammy and Susie say the nicest things to one another they have in a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the art! The first two are SONGS someone wrote for me!!! Holy shit!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/189233039723/crying
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188891326078/you-have-a-beautiful-voice-in-response-to
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188903135067/insane-control-room-sometimes-just-one-small
> 
> And here's art of the last chapter!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188899117683/oh-my-gosh-theyre-both-cute-as-buttons

By far, of all the activities necessary for a proper transition, there was one that had as many pitfalls to match the sheer joy involved. Leaving Mr. Drew’s dusty home was like approaching the end of a tunnel; the brightness- both glorious and terrifying- was overwhelming regardless, as none knew what to expect until it was right in front of their face. For this reason, Francine normally did rounds. It’s much easier to properly assist someone in crisis or respond to their glee and questions if it’s a _single_ person rather than a small crowd of everyone doing the exact same thing. Only so many hands and so many tongues for assurance, y’ know.

This is why reluctance plucked the hairs on her arms till they goosebumped, as she walked along the sidewalk this evening with a grand total of three friends who wanted to get out of the house. Or- er- well…? That was at least Sammy’s story. And then Susie announced without being asked that she wanted to go too, shoving her arms through Francine’s oversized black coat. As for Norman? Well, he kind of just showed up, smiling briefly over the girl’s head before silently leading them out the door. So that made a whole trio- the trio, perhaps, if Francine went by her memory of the old studio. It had all begun to blur now, with people being unrecognizable from how they appeared to her before. Searchers now had eyes, and butchers now had voices.

Not that neither she nor those in question always had a clue how they met before.

But regardless, the trauma remained. She was no therapist, and she well on her way to finding a proper one that could at least _entertain_ keeping such a secret, but she did her best. That’s why they were learning to cook. That’s why they had movie nights. And that’s why they went on walks.

These were things she needed too, after all.

Her schedule being written in her mind for the next few days was interrupted when in her peripheral, one of the gang had stopped moving.

Francine’s head turned to see that the old projectionist had decided to sit down on a porch they had passed by, giving no sign nor gesture that they come, wait, or leave him behind. She only saw it fit to do all but the last, of course, so she muttered, “He’s resting,” to clue Sammy in, and she approached him without question.

Without much surprise, Susie seated herself beside Norman, mirroring his stance by holding her knees. Francine noticed the way she looked at him, her chin upturned. Fondness- that’s what gleamed in her eyes. Francine had no clue if such feelings were from before the flood that killed them or sometime after. Probably didn’t matter either way.

So, next to Susie was the woman who wanted to love her, and just enough room was there for her best friend. Coincidence or not, all arms were linked. Every last one of them besides Francine had tilted their head up to smell the crisp late autumn air, listen to the birds flying away, and absorb this moment that at one point could never have existed at all. She could have learned a thing from them about learning how to relax.

And so that was why, in silent agreement, the three were inclined to do just that. The quiet reigned, and it made Francine uncomfortable, glancing up from her lap side to side to see if anyone was teary, upset, or about to talk.

…

Nothing.

Just pleasant expressions and the world around them.

Susie nearly choked, catching a glimpse of Francine for her own reaction before gulping and turning back forward. And Sammy nearly choked at that, having to bite his tongue from letting out a teasing laugh. The most Norman did was huff through his nose at the other two. But these things weren’t enough for Francine to catch on, to see that there was something she could pick apart from them to talk about as she was so clever at doing.

One hand in Susie’s and another holding Sammy’s, she found all she could do was stare at her boots and let her busy mind catch up with the slowing pace.

…

…

“It’s a lot, you know?”

No one turned to her, but everyone listened.

“It’s a lot to…do all this.” There was a lacking to describe just how suffocating it had been, going from college student only looking out for herself and her cat to being matriarch of an overgrown family within the span of less than a year.

“…Are you guys okay?”

She meant not about their silence, but of her care of them. It was only then that the two directly beside allowed themselves to respond however subtly to her. Their bodies turned more in their seats, Susie’s knees pointed towards hers and Sammy leaning more into her with his side. He had forgotten what it had been like to give warmth back, and so a wash of memories tingled down his shoulders and into the gutters of his heart. Norman looked on, lifting his arm and putting it around Susie’s back until his fingertips landed on Francine’s shoulder.

“Yes,” someone said. “As well as we can be.”

And then there was silence once more.

…

…

The young woman finally turned her chin up too, and her eyes saw the sunshine at the end of the tunnel.

“It’s snowing,” she finally noticed.

And as her friends saw snow for the first time in eighty some years, she had become aware of herself just in time to never lose sight of it in the first place

They walked around the block and then again after that, the trio that saved her in the studio being headed by their beloved leader. She held Sammy and Susie’s hands and occasionally looked up to see Norman smiling down at her, and she had shyly sung a song enough times that the two at her sides could sing it back by the time they had gone inside. The snowflakes in her hair melted into raindrops and glittered like crystals, and when everyone at home saw it, they wanted to go outside too. So not one by one but in groups of friends, Francine put them in her oversized coats and hummed each time with a little less fear this new favorite song.

It was still on the first two’s lips as they sat by the fireplace in her absence, and for the first time in a long time, the angel and the prophet had a conversation. It may have just been the back and forth of lyrics in hushed- almost embarrassed- voices, but it was one step closer to their usual duets. In their love of Francine, they were beginning to melt the ice and remember common ground. Susie was watching the snowflakes fall as she poised upon the couch in a blue shirt with a heart stitched on the chest, and Sammy rested his hands in the front pocket of a maroon hoodie as he leaned against the window and felt the cold of the frost forming on the other side.

_“We ought to leave a light on, leave a light on,_

_Underneath the moon._

_Sitting in the sight of every eye._

_I believe in you._

_Open your window, look out, and see me._

_Slow I am coming a long way to be.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Light and Night by Tally Hall, and I've had the particular scene of Sammy and Susie singing it to Francine in my head for a very long time. 
> 
> I've also noticed with Reverbs that my mode of writing is more wistful and poetic than detailed. I'm having fun so I hope you enjoy it too!


	11. Daylight is Growing Short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you looked over the edge of your little world and into the universe, how well would your mind fare? As Joey saw it, this is what he had done for many, many years, and he's not sure if the fears he sees are shadows of trauma or something new, and really truly wicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm home sick from work so I decided to write a short drabble! And hopefully work with these feelings in another chapter in the future.

The ridges of the fence shined with the rising sun’s fire, bright against the dulled wood of the planks upright in the still-cold earth. Light snowfall couldn’t muffle a creak as an old crate was kicked to stand by its side. The offending foot was joined by another upon the large but thin crack in the middle of the box, with moss trying to keep it glued together under the stress of the sinner’s weight. Joey’s hands curled around a fence almost as old as he was, the sensation odd as phantom touches of another time- doing this same thing, holding the same wood- simultaneously tried to fill the space between his fingers. Orange hair peeked over the barrier this early morning, not unlike the dawn ahead. And as with both, Joey’s eyes slid across the yards and roads around his former home and saw that no one else was awake to see it; he had lost most sense of time, but he knew it was about to be winter, and so most of those who worked had left already as the daylight grew short and people had to journey into the dark.

**_Daylight is growing short._ **

Mr. Drew winced at himself. _He can do it. He can live. He can function._

It was imperative, at this point, for them to live a happily ever after.

His honey irises glittered as their stare approached the horizons around him with greater worry than he’d ever like to have. The old maple tree- at the corner of the road! The-… The birdbath of the neighbor’s two doors down. The barking dog underneath the roof of its own little house. As he listed these things to calm himself, just as Francine had suggested before, they were supposed to be things to prove that it was all real, and he was just fine But standing here, folding his arms across the wooden cusp of a world he both fully and hardly knew, they also stood to be things that if his worst fears were true, he could take it all away.

He left the studio still stained with its ink on a paper-colored coat he hadn’t taken off in a century. What if it meant something? Could the curse be dormant still? What if he could still hurt them-

The most tremulous of concerns was stilled with an exhale from his nose, just as he had done before from his broken throne on a glistening ebony shore where he could see- **feel-** all the pain and suffering he had wrought unto those he had wanted to protect. And from one world to the next, Joey Drew turned his chin up to the new day and considered if just as before, he could be the root of something wicked. He _did_ believe Francine that he was different, but he felt raw to the core with hurt feelings and confused notions about the life and death of himself, his studio, and his son. Guilt dug its thorns into his heart as he considered Linda and wondered why it wasn’t that he could just be happy enough to close this chapter for good.

He returned to his shed before the sky turned blue once more and wondered if he had changed enough and after all.


	12. Patchwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francine learns that despite all her efforts, something has slipped right under her nose. Thankfully, her new friend Wally knows how to help!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the recent art! Thank you, Control and my other friends!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/190567273748/insane-control-room-pipesflowforeverandever
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/190429929363/insane-control-room-pipesflowforeverandever
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/190167003273/insane-control-room-dance-of-memory
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/190616744898/randomwriteronline-pipesflowforeverandever
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/190393819333/insane-control-room-pipesflowforeverandever-a
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/190024150613/winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/189948811463/lady-lampblack-pipesflowforeverandever-lets-go
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/188903135067/insane-control-room-sometimes-just-one-small
> 
> My friend Control even made me an animatic!!! Please see it, it's about Reverbs especially and im cry
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/190393904483/insane-control-room-love-you

“So then I say to him, ‘Mr. Drew, what are _you_ doing sleeping in a shed without as much as a pillow to put behind your head?! No _wonder_ you don’t wanna do anything’!”

“Wait, Wally—"

“’When was the last time y’ came out for a lemonade?’ Or…what’s the stuff he likes?”

“Wally—”

“Hold on, I got it! …Um…”

_“Wally—”_

“OH! IT’S _TEA!”_

_“WALLY!”_

Francine let the stack of papers she was pawing through thud onto the middle of her keyboard, too frustrated to care about the random letters now repeating over and over in her search bar. With his silence finally achieved, a deep inhale came through her nose till she felt air pierce her brain.

“So. He doesn’t…have a bed in there?!”

“No, siree! It’s a regular old shed! Finally got a peek today visiting ‘em and it’s just a chair and a table full of tools! Don’t know if I busted up my knee any more than it already is stickin’ it in the door ‘fore he could close it again, but…”

The young woman’s face was now completely flushed. God. Fuck. What the fuck, how could she…?!

…How could she neglect him so badly?

In the middle of rubbing the sides of her nose, a horrible flash of white caught the edge of her eye. Wally’s mouth was soon downturned in a confused and cautious frown as his new friend jumped up from her seat and put her palms on the window; it was almost like watching a kid see snowfall for the first time this year, only the snow had been there for a day already and it was only just now that she understood what it meant. A layer of white lay like brick over a shed, a crack in the side visible from both across the yard and from her second-story window.

“He’s gonna fucking FREEZE to death down there!!!”

For the first time since she was in the studio, her pulse pounded like her veins were gonna burst any second. She let him down. These people need help and she’s still _fucking_ letting them down! She hadn’t done enough. She hadn’t checked what was even in the shed, she hadn’t told him enough- at the right- times that he could have whatever he wanted. _She—_

“Frankie?”

Before she could even twist her head and it’s gaping jaw to face him, Wally’s sandy mop of hair was forced in between her face and the frosted window. The optimism in his expression was always unreal to her. Uncommonly for him, however, was the softness in his goofy smile.

“Y’ know…” he chimed in what Francine had learned to recognize as his ‘humble brag’ voice, “…I could fix it up in no time for ya, since it looks like the old man ain’t gonna go anywhere anytime soon.”

Her own expression of panic and dismay began to fall into something more contemplative. A slow blink and quiet lips gave him permission to continue, which he did so _gladly._

“Just need- ah- new heating system with the ‘lectricity from the main house—” Wally nearly purred in his smug enthusiasm for his plan. If he had a wrench in his hand he’d be spinning it, which would later make Francine grateful he didn’t considering the squeeze between her and the view of the shed. “Maybe touch up the siding, fill in the cracks. Then you just add a bed and _violin!_ You got yourself somethin’ nearly good as a whole house!”

His mispronunciation of the French ‘voila’ went right under her nose as the rest of Wally’s proposal hit dead on in the face, leaving her stunned as quickly as she had been horrified before. Francine blinked yet again, but Wally didn’t have anything left to add but a proud shrug, so she finally had enough time to catch her tongue.

“…You can really do that for him…?” She was mesmerized at the prospect. “But- no. No, he wouldn’t let us. He doesn’t even let you inside his shed—”

“But he lets _you_ in.” Wally had to chase that statement real quick before Francine could retort tearfully that even though she _can,_ she never _has,_ and that’s the problem. “But I know any ol’ pal can’t do this kind of work, so why don’t you just keep him out for a while and leave the door unlocked?”

Thankfully, this was enough for her to respond with more reason and curiosity. “How long do you think it’s gonna take…?”

 _“Pff!_ An afternoon!”

Now, she was pretty sure he’s just bragging. Maybe not quite that short.

“…I can try to take him somewhere overnight,” Francine offered, delicate hope tingling in the back of her mouth.

 _“YEAH!_ That’s the plan! We’ll do it tonight!”

“Tonight?! Are you sure—”

“Miss Frankie…” Wally trailed with a strong but more serious tone. “If we don’t begin tonight, then ain’t that just another night that loon puts himself in a freezer for no reason?”

With that, her eye glanced back to the backyard. The window was tinted grey with frost- like snowflakes pressed into the glass; the snow on top of Joey’s roof was looking more and more like another layer of white bricks with each passing minute. Exhaling, she comes to the only reasonable conclusion that Mr. Drew’s stubbornness left for them.

“…I guess I can find a motel or something last minute—”

“YEAH! Course you can! And go see a movie or, or a duck, or something!”

…

“Or a d—?”

 _“Pond!_ They’re called ponds!”

Her nose wrinkled with a hesitant but genuine chuckle. “I think the ducks are gone now, but yeah, the pond’s at least frozen over by now.”

Wally was only allowed a few more seconds to beam pridefully before Francine put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to grunt in surprise.

“…Thank you.” It was quiet from her. She was still coming to terms with the shame that she hadn’t bothered to check if the place Joey insisted on living in was even suitable for the job. “I-…I don’t like making people help me, but—”

“But nothin’, Frankie!” Wally dismissed with a wave of the hand and a blush cornering the edges of his toothy grin. “Just doin’ what I did back in the old days!”

The old days… It still catches her off guard how relaxed he was about reminiscing about then. No one else could even mention it without sounding at least deeply wistful.

“I thought you were a janitor,” the young woman mumbled with a raised brow.

“Yeah…” Wally checked his nails before glancing at her from his peripheral. “But what good would I be if I can’t fix nothin’?”

Francine tilted her head, paused in thought, and presumed that maybe ‘janitor’ covered a few more duties than she was familiar with.

“And regardless…” Wally interrupted her inner dialogue. “We’re family, right? Family helps free o’ charge.”

At that, Francine could only pause again- in a very different way- before she shyly gave a grin that could match his.

“I guess so.”

It was so nice that even if she couldn’t blame the others, at least one person cared about Joey like she did.

 

* * *

 

Wally waved the car goodbye as Francine and Joey pulled onto the road, and as soon as he was out of her sight, his smirk fell and his arms drooped. He didn’t know how to fix anything! Not like that! Ah, darn, what was he gonna do?!

His eyes brightened up. Back in the old days, if he had dug himself in a hole, there was always one guy he could count on to dig him out!

_“No.”_

Wally tried to mimic Thomas’s unfriendly frown and crossed arms with his own, but they soon wavered into a helpless shrug.

“Come on, Mr. Connor, do y’ want him to freeze to death?!”

 _“Yeah,”_ the older mean stated matter-of-fact, glaring with his half-lidded eyes. “And so should you! He fucking killed us! And before that, he treated us like _shit!”_

Wally’s ever-present smile could somehow also bitterly convey hopelessness. “Now, Mr. Connor, I already told ya I don’t remember any of that.”

The softness in the janitor’s tone was on its way to convincing the handyman it might just be the truth. But regardless- “He doesn’t deserve it, Franks.” Thomas crossed his legs as he leaned against the wall, the still broken TV writhing its black and white screen in the backdrop. “If Francine took that car and drove him off a cliff, it’d be too good for him.”

Wally’s shrug deepened, and his knees bent closer to the floor in his exaggerated bow for mercy. “You can’t really _mean_ that!”

_“I! DO!!!”_

The younger man retracted, both in position and in gesture; he curled his arms back more towards his chest, and Thomas knew from the look in his eyes that maybe exactly how fed up he was with Drew had gotten through to him. As he glared, he hoped that maybe Wally would find the piece of himself that would be fed up, too.

“And if you want to help him, you can freeze your ass off, too!”

The toolbox Thomas had been using for the TV was thrown at Wally’s feet, a screwdriver falling out and rolling after the handyman’s heels. It only made a few inches away, but that was longer than Wally found himself willing to chase. A slam of the door rose him briefly off the floor in a jump, and then it was just him and the static. His lip trembled, and words that came easily to him were now stuck on his tongue. The tools stared up at him, and they made him wonder if after everything he had been told about Joey, was it really worth it.

…

…

Allison peeked from the cover of the fluffed sofa in front of the TV that had hidden her from view, watching Wally turn to go down the stairs. A short time later, a distant door closed, and she saw a blonde figure without so much as a coat kneel open the door to the shed and disappear into it. With a frown of her own, she narrowed her eyes and turned on her heel, briskly making her way to have a conversation with her friend, the oh-so sympathetic but nonetheless justified Thomas Connor.


End file.
